


#footballporn

by winged_mammal



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5298407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winged_mammal/pseuds/winged_mammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root and Shaw bet on football, with sexy results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#footballporn

**Author's Note:**

> It's been mentioned at least twice in the show that watching football was Shaw's thing with her dad, and I realized that Root grew up in small town Texas so there's no way she doesn't know football. Thoughts spiraled out of control and the Machine got involved, and this was the result. I condensed some bits of the real Packers-Broncos game from this season, but also changed some things around for reasons.

“No way in hell they convert the third down.”

Shaw shifts on the couch, slouching further down and Root can’t help but smile at the way she’s increasingly being swallowed by the cushions. “I don’t think you can force a punt through sheer force of will, Sameen.”

“They’re on third and seventeen,” Shaw points out. “Not gonna happen.”

_“Probability of Broncos first down: eighteen point three nine percent.”_

Root hums at the Machine in her ear, still such a novelty after so many quiet months, and nods her head toward the screen. “For what it’s worth, She agrees with you.”

“Smart of her.” A whistle blows on the field, and Shaw huffs as the referee calls time out. “You’re just delaying the inevitable there, guys.”

“Tell you what,” Root says, turning on the couch to face Shaw directly. “If they have to punt, I’ll let you finish the game in peace. If they get the first down…” Root shifts closer and lets her fingers dance along Shaw’s thigh, relishing the heat of the skin at the edge of her shorts. “Then I get to keep distracting you, however I see fit.”

Shaw eyes her warily, but doesn’t hide the considering once-over she gives Root. “Seems like a lot to ride on one play.”

“Afraid I’ll be right?” A snort is her only answer, and Root leans her shoulder back against the couch. “Fine. We’ll go play by play.”

The teams line back up on the field and Shaw’s eyes flick between Root and the game clock. “You’re on,” she agrees finally, and rolls her eyes when Root offers her hand to shake but accepts it anyway.

It’s a novel exercise for Root, actually being invested in the ability of Peyton Manning to throw a ball to another overly muscled man in tights. As the ball is snapped and he dances in place looking for an open receiver, she chews on her lip and wills the offensive line to keep him protected. A defender breaks through and Manning scrambles backward before launching the ball and getting tackled.

“Hah!” Shaw leans forward, anticipating victory, but quickly frowns when a receiver manages to catch the football and run. “What the _fuck_ take him out take him out take him _out_ ,” she calls, and throws herself backward against the couch when he gets the down and is finally knocked out of bounds several yards past the chains. “Ugh.”

“Good old Caldwell,” Root smiles at the TV, and promptly launches herself at Shaw’s neck.

Shaw makes a strangled noise of surprise but allows Root to settle into her lap, her hands coming to rest at Root’s waist. Her pulse races under Root’s lips, her adrenaline still flowing from the last play, and Root hums against her skin as she runs her fingers along Shaw’s ribs and kisses at the skin under her ear.

“Incomplete pass,” Shaw says, craning her neck to look at the screen around Root’s shoulder and Root takes advantage of the movement to sink her teeth into the muscle. She’s rewarded with a low groan and Root’s fingers migrate to trace the rumbles through Shaw’s throat, pressing in just enough to make her gasp.

“Gain at least five yards,” she counters, just as she hears the snap behind her. Shaw tenses and Root’s fingers tighten around her throat and abdomen in response, her hips rolling into Shaw’s at the warmth of Shaw’s breath on her ear.

A whistle blows and the announcer laments the Broncos’ loss of yardage. Shaw turns her head slightly under Root’s unceasing movements. “What if neither of us is right?”

“Null result,” Root murmurs into her ear, nibbling around the studs in the lobe. “I get to keep going.”

“Of course.” 

Shaw moves without protest when Root tugs at her shirt to toss it away, and her hands fall back to Root’s hips when Root’s mouth finally meets hers in a lazy kiss. Root sighs happily against her lips and loses herself in the sensation until Shaw pulls away just enough to make another prediction.

“First down and then some.” 

Root meets her eyes and squints at her. “Fumble.” Shaw matches her challenging expression and Root kisses her again, capturing her lower lip between hers and giving it a tug. Her hands trail up Shaw’s sides and play at the outer curves of her breasts and she barely has time to enjoy the feeling of the soft skin under her fingertips before she hears wild cheering coming from the television and finds herself being pushed off Shaw’s lap.

She lands in an indignant tangle of limbs at Shaw’s side and at her pout, Shaw smirks and points to the screen. “Twenty-four yard reception.”

Shaw’s eyes are bright, and Root thinks it’s unfair how well she can pull off smug satisfaction when she’s half naked and looking thoroughly kissed. “I thought you hated the Broncos.”

“I hate _Peyton Manning_ , doesn’t mean I think he’s a shitty quarterback.” Root huffs and settles back against the couch as Shaw takes a sip of the beer that’s been sitting forgotten on the floor. “And the Packers defense has sucked all day.”

Root watches as the chains move and the Broncos sideline claps each other on the back after the reception. Caldwell is dead to her. “They’ll get just past the first down. What did Manning do to you, anyway?”

“If you've listened to him yell about Omaha for no goddamned reason as much as I have, you'd hate him too.” Her head bobs slightly as she considers the formation on the screen. “They’ll get a yard, maybe two at the most. And you’re supposed to be letting me watch in peace, so hush.”

“Whatever you say, sweetie,” Root agrees, folding her arms across her chest and unapologetically leering at the puckered skin of Shaw’s nipples in the cool air of the apartment. Shaw catches her out of the corner of her eye and refuses to comment, focusing instead on the imminent play.

It’s a low snap, and Root’s stomach sinks but she grins and leans in toward Shaw as Manning catches it anyway and evades the defenders. He looks ridiculous, darting back and forth pumping his arm as he looks for an out, and Root would wish for him to be sacked already if her ability to get her mouth back on Shaw didn’t depend on his continued well-being.

Finally he sees an opening and runs the ball himself, tucking it against his side and sliding to a stop a few inches past the marker. Shaw scarcely has time to scowl before Root has climbed on top of her, laying her back against the seat cushions and fixing her lips to the scar on the side of Shaw’s left breast.

“Fuck Manning,” Shaw breathes, but presses her hips up into Root’s anyway. Root bites down on a nipple and wraps a hand around the back of Shaw’s neck, tilting her head back to expose her throat so she can mark a trail of bites along the skin from her chest to her ear. The referee calls for a media timeout, and Root grins against Shaw’s lips even as Shaw groans in dismay. Or arousal; sometimes it’s hard to tell with Shaw and these games they play.

Shaw’s hands slide under Root’s shirt and scratch at her skin before playing with the clasp of her bra and unhooking it almost as an afterthought. “Giving in already, Sameen?” Root purrs into Shaw’s ear, and Shaw growls into Root’s.

“Not a chance.” All the same, she pushes Root off her just enough to drag her shirt over her head and toss her bra away. Her arms wrap around Root’s torso, keeping her in place as Root’s thigh falls between hers and presses against her.

Root bites Shaw’s lip harder than she means to when she feels the heat between Shaw’s legs through the thin cotton of her sleep shorts, but Shaw doesn’t seem to mind if the way her nails dig into Root’s back is any indication. Which Root is fairly certain it is; she’s long since learned the language of Shaw’s body, and there is little that she enjoys more than the feeling of it on her tongue.

She’s dimly aware of the same car commercial repeating itself in the background as she trails down Shaw’s torso and hooks her fingers under Shaw’s shorts, and she startles and scratches Shaw’s hip when the Machine fills her ear.

_“Thirty second signal delay enabled. Broncos advance four yards."_

Root stifles a laugh and urges Shaw’s hips up so she can slide her shorts and underwear down her legs. “Thank you,” she murmurs as she tosses the clothing away, and Shaw waves it off as she spreads her knees to let Root settle between them. “Denver gains yardage.”

Shaw glances to the side, watching as the game reappears on the screen. “Fumble.”

Root doesn’t know what she did to deserve an all-seeing God helping her cheat in her sex games, but, she thinks as she lowers her head and bites the adorable flab of flesh on her thigh that Shaw likes to pretend doesn’t exist, she’s certainly not going to complain. Or play honest.

The crowd cheers and Root joins in their celebration by pressing her tongue against Shaw’s clit and relishing the way Shaw’s back unwittingly arches into her. 

“Flag on the play,” Shaw forces out around gritted teeth, holding back the sounds of pleasure Root knows she’d be letting out under less competitive circumstances.

_“Broncos to Packers twenty-six yard line.”_

Root lifts her head just enough for Shaw to hear her. “They get the down,” she says, and places a soft kiss to Shaw’s clit before pushing her tongue inside her and setting out to devour her whole.

And this - Root’s head between Shaw’s legs, her mouth working against her as Shaw’s body curls in on itself in writhing pleasure - this is Root’s favorite place to be. Vulnerable is never a word that could be applied to Shaw, certainly not in situations such as these, but there is a certain amount of trust that Shaw puts in Root when she allows her to do this. Shaw knows what she wants, and that usually isn’t a slow teasing buildup with nothing but a tongue and a pair of lips sliding along her flesh. But she trusts Root to handle her, to let her take control of her pleasure in a way Shaw doesn’t have much say in, and Root knows there are few people on Earth who have gone down on Shaw and not wound up getting kneed in the chin.

_“Second and five._ ”

“Second down.” Root’s voice is muffled against Shaw, she knows, but she can’t bring herself to pull away.

Shaw’s neck cranes to look at the television and at what Root is doing to her in turn. Root resists the smirk when she gasps out, “touchdown,” and decides to focus her attention on watching Root instead of the game.

Root rewards her with two fingers that slip easily inside, and this time there’s no resisting her smile as Shaw arches her hips up into her and digs her fingers into Root’s shoulder at the rush of pleasure. Her muscles clench around Root’s fingers and Root moans against her, dragging her bottom lip through her wetness and letting it linger on her clit.

_“First and goal.”_

There’s a decent chance that Shaw doesn’t realize the previous play is over. Not that it particularly matters, Root considers, but let it never be said that she didn’t give Shaw a fighting chance. “They get into the red zone.”

Or at least the appearance of one.

“Interception.” Shaw tangles her fingers into Root’s hair, pressing her in closer as her hips work in short circles under Root’s free arm, demanding more. Root’s fingers slowly curl inside her and she savors the taste at her lips, her tongue laving gentle circles around and below her clit. The heat at her fingertips draws her in and refuses to let her go and Root has no choice but to up the rhythm of the curls inside Shaw and watch her face go slack with pleasure at the stimulation of her g-spot.

Which isn’t to say Root hadn’t been planning on it anyway, because watching Shaw fall apart by her hand is Root’s second favorite pastime, after watching her fall apart under her tongue. The ref calls for a Packers timeout, and Root relishes the wanton moan that falls out of Shaw’s mouth when Root moves her arm and fucks her to the beat of her own heart.

“Root…” Shaw’s legs wrap around Root’s torso and hold her in place as she gasps out Root’s name, her breath coming in labored pants and Root can’t resist trailing her free hand up her chest to grasp one of her heaving breasts. The nipple is rough under her palm and she shifts her grip to pinch at it between her thumb and the knuckle of her forefinger even as she adds a third finger inside her. “Root, come on - ”

Root nips at Shaw’s clit in admonishment, humming in the negative. “No can do, sweetie. You don’t score until they do.”

Shaw groans, though whether it is in pleasure at the way Root’s fingers are filling her or at the prospect of having to root for the Broncos, Root couldn’t say. She has her suspicions though, as Shaw writhes and attempts to fuck herself on Root’s hand and Root only slows her pace in response.

_“Touchdown Broncos.”_

Shaw’s nails claw at Root’s scalp. “Good thing they’re gonna get the TD then.”

Root freezes for a moment, cursing Shaw’s timing. “Sure, but pass or rush?”

_“C.J. Anderson rush for eight yards.”_

“Pass.” Shaw pulls Root’s head back down before she can argue the point, and Root hums in satisfaction at her continued victory. She’s almost tempted to make Shaw pay for butting in and nearly ruining it, but fortunately for her she tastes too damn good for Root to not devour her with everything she’s got, least of all when she’s naked and writhing and so openly wanting that it’s all Root can do to not tip her over the edge before it’s time.

Root moves her hand to press against Shaw’s throat as her fingers thrust inside and she’s finding it difficult to breathe with Shaw’s thighs pressed against her ears but that’s a fairly normal state of being for her when she’s around Shaw and she learned long ago how to live while constantly on the edge of drowning. Her lips fix around Shaw’s clit and Shaw must hear the touchdown celebration because a hand wraps around Root’s forearm and the other at the back of Root’s neck and her voice rasps out around the pressure of Root’s hand.

“Come on, Root,” she insists - not begs, she’s been very clear on that, she doesn’t beg except under very specific conditions - and rolls her hips into Root, smearing her chin with her wetness. Root moans into her and curls her fingers with her rapid thrusts and accedes to her demand. “Come on, Root, make me - oh _fuck_ \- ”

The hand at Shaw’s throat tightens as she comes, and Root feels a surge of heat working its way through her own body at the vibrations of Shaw’s moans beneath her palm. Her fingers don’t cease their movements as Shaw’s muscles clamp down around them and Shaw’s thighs tighten around her head and Root lets her head roll with Shaw’s writhing, savoring the taste of her orgasm on her lips.

The extra point comes and goes in the time it takes Shaw to finally come down and slacken her hold on Root, and Root wastes no time in hauling herself up and pressing her mouth to Shaw’s. Root loses herself in the warmth of Shaw’s bare chest against hers and the shameless way Shaw’s tongue laps at her lips, and she shifts the hand that still rests between Shaw’s legs to let her thumb drift over Shaw’s clit. The hips beneath hers shudder and shy away and Root doesn’t hold back the smirk at the response.

Her thumb presses more firmly against Shaw’s clit and Shaw pulls away from the kiss. “You can stop now.”

Root never can resist Shaw’s sex-roughened voice, and trails down her jawline to press her lips against her throat. “I got the play right, so I get to keep going.”

“You never actually _said_ anything.” Shaw’s protest is belied by the way her breath stutters at the circling of Root’s thumb, and when Root brings her finger into the mix and rubs her clit between them, Shaw’s hands at Root’s hips dig in just a little more.

“Well, you got it wrong, so I still get to keep going anyway.”

Shaw’s hands glide along Root’s skin as Root trails her lips down her chest and lets her breath wash over a pebbled nipple. “Fine, whatever.”

_“Broncos kickoff to Packers three yard line.”_

“Besides, Sameen,” Root singsongs, ghosting her tongue over Shaw’s breast, “what’s football without a little penetration in the pocket?”

Shaw’s eyes fly open and she glares at Root. “You have got to be fucking - ” 

Root slips three fingers back inside Shaw before she can protest, and Shaw’s eyes roll back as she lets out a drawn out moan. Root’s teeth latch onto the smooth skin in front of her, determined to leave a trail of purple marks behind for Shaw to remember her biting wit by.

_“Aaron Rodgers sacked in endzone for a safety.”_

Well, that’s an unexpected outcome. Root would rather have had time to draw this out some more, but there’s certainly something to be said for giving Shaw another orgasm so soon on the heels of such a nice one.

Her hand shifts to thumb at Shaw’s clit as her fingers take up a bruising rhythm and her teeth continue to work at her breast, and Shaw spasms in a truly delicious loss of control that sends Root reeling and nearly makes her miss the snap.

She hears the crowd roar in anticipation and moves to whisper in Shaw’s ear. “ _Safety._ ”

“Wha - oh _shit_ \- ” Shaw scarcely has time to react before the announcers go wild and Root drives her over the edge as she sinks her teeth into her neck, hard and unforgiving just under her jaw. Her fingers work insistently inside her and Root gives silent thanks to the Packers offensive line for sucking so terribly at their job and enabling her to see Shaw rendered utterly incoherent as her body wraps around Root’s and rides out the overwhelming sensations of a second orgasm barely three minutes after the first.

_“Packers kickoff to Broncos forty-seven yard line.”_

Root slows her fingers and soothes at the bite on Shaw’s neck. “That’s enough, sweetie,” she murmurs as Shaw’s hands fall limp, one dangling over the edge of the couch, and what Root wouldn’t give for a way to photograph this moment, with Shaw looking so adorably fucked and exhausted.

“Don’t think I don’t know when you’re talking to the Machine,” Shaw rumbles, eyes still closed, and Root sits up slightly from her perch on her chest.

“Hmm?”

“That was your I’m-talking-to-the-Machine-but-also-to-you voice.” Shaw opens her eyes and something in Root’s expression must amuse her. She shifts to sit up and lean against the arm of the couch, her fingers coming up to trail along the wet patches she left behind on Root’s jeans. “I know you and the Machine were running the wire con on me, I watched the same damn episode of _Leverage_ you did.”

Root’s face falls. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Fingers come up to flick at one of Root’s nipples, and Shaw smirks at the way Root shivers. “Don’t let me catch you pulling that shit again.”

Root can’t keep the gleam out of her eye as she leans down slightly into Shaw’s space and traces a nail down her chest. “What, can your tight end not handle it?”

Shaw rolls her eyes, pushing Root off her and rising to her feet. “You haven’t even touched my tight end.”

“I can if you want me to,” Root offers, reaching a hand out to the curve of Shaw’s ass. Shaw stares at her impassively for a long moment, then captures her hand and pulls her up. Root lets out an embarrassing yelp and wraps her legs around Shaw’s waist as she picks her up, her hands keeping a firm grip on Root’s thighs. Shaw’s lips attach themselves to Root’s neck as she carries her through the apartment, and when they reach the bed Shaw spins around and throws herself backward, Root landing in a heap on top of her.

“Bring it on.”


End file.
